Wanderlust
by helloxbrightxeyes
Summary: A car with no air conditioning. A quickly depleting bank account. An impulsive decision that led to the adventure of a lifetime. Bella goes cross-country and finds herself along the way.
1. Chapter 1

There was something insurmountably satisfying about being behind the wheel of a car again. The seats were cracked from decades of use, the blinker ticked loudly, the gear shift felt sticky and unused. It was my first car. I'd come home on my on my sixteenth birthday to find it in the driveway, key in a card tucked under a potted plant on the back porch.

At sixteen, I'd had no money, a boyfriend I thought hung the moon, and a serious delusion involving going to Harvard. But twenty was different – I'd been away at school (a liberal arts school in the North) for five months. Coming home for the summer had meant giving up my grocery clerk job (thank goodness), in an exchange for an internship that kept me behind a computer all day in a law firm downtown. I was single and annoyed with half of the male population.

Sixteen had felt antsy to see what the world held; twenty felt the exact same way. And with the knowledge of what the next summer morning would bring – another commute downtown with my mother, more coffee for assholes, and more appointments made behind a sleek desk in too high heels, I couldn't fall asleep.

I sat up in bed and thought of my life since I'd first left my sleepy Midwest town for to pursue a degree. The dismal winter months of my first year of college had me imagining a life by the coasts of California. I was broke and cowardly then. I didn't have access to my car. I had classes to finish and a whole other slew of excuses for staying in my dorm in Pennsylvania.

I pulled the blankets back, turned the TV back on and thought once again about the next day's promise of shitty, unpaid work. Then I got up. _It doesn't have to be like this_, I thought, pulling on the shorts I'd worn earlier_. I'm young and there's so much to do_, I thought, stuffing all I could fit into my duffel. _Don't think, _I thought, a mantra really – writing a note for my mom and step-dad; petting my dog; down the stairs and into the car and onto the highway.

_Oh shit_.


	2. Chapter 2

I make it as far North as Liberty, Missouri (some twenty minutes away from home), before deciding to call it a night. I've seen this hotel hundreds of times – it boasts a lit up waterslide that slithers out of the building, a shining beacon to pass on the highway. I pull in to park mostly because I'm hopeless with navigation and don't really know where I'm going past this place. California is east, but I could just as easily read in Arabic as find east.

But all is not well. I am grateful for the forgiving temperature and the fact that this is the good part of town as I settle into the passenger seat of my now locked car. I am not twenty-one – I will not be renting out a hotel room tonight. There's a brief flicker of worry that shoots down my spine as the attendant returns my ID and gently lets me know the age requirement. I worry that I'm not savvy enough to actually take on the world on my own.

Exhaustion hits me fast. I deflate – all the energy and excitement and dumbass youth that pushed me out of my front door is gone and in its place is…nothing. It's not that I can't go home, if I returned now no one would ever know I left, it's more I don't want to go home. I don't want to go home, but I don't want to stay in this parking lot and I'm terrified that I won't be able to do this (whatever this is), successfully.

I've got $478 and some change to my name, not to mention a Victoria's Secret credit card and a QuikTrip gift card. At home, this could probably get me through the summer, but now I'm alone. Albeit, by my own doing. I know it won't last me long, especially once my parents find out I've left. Phone bill, food, shelter, even the occasional trip to the gas station have always been paid for…even if I dip into savings, (a barely there $250), I'm beginning to realize how much of a struggle this is really going to be. On top of all of that, I'm not even old enough to stay in hotels.

And still, I can't even begin to think about going back home. I fall asleep, thinking of gas prices and shady motels that don't require ID.

* * *

Apparently, sleeping in parking lots is frowned upon. I am very rudely awakened by the same attendant from last night banging on my window. Her face is sour and her curls have fallen.

It's only six, but it's already warm. I drive farther down the freeway with the windows cracked and enjoy what lingers of the nighttime breeze. Most people haven't left for work yet, so the roads are fairly clear. Missouri has tons of thick, beautiful trees, and hills and hills of them are visible beyond the houses and businesses. If I keep going this way, I'll soon be surrounded by trees on either side of me, the pink-purple sky ahead. There are still stars out as the sun struggles to rise and it's all so beautiful, I can't help but to feel a renewed sense of energy.

This is the right thing to do.

* * *

An hour and half later finds me pulling into a gas station. I need gas and a phone charger. My iPhone has been buzzing in its spot in the cup holder for forty-five minutes. I was nervous to answer the calls most likely coming from my mother, but it's almost dead and I need Google Maps.

Manhattan, Kansas is sweltering and flat. The sky is clear blue now, the sun a white-bright light. It's kind of a relentless heat, but I don't mind. Winters at school and winters at home have taught me a lot about appreciating sweat slicked skin and constant humidity.

I stand from my car, the first time since last night, and stretch – Phase 2 Sun Salutation style. I can feel my hair frizzing at the nape of my neck, but thankfully the rest hasn't tumbled out of the bun I made to sleep in last night. I actually look like I've just run away from home – sleep shorts and a t-shirt with my high school mascot fading on the front, no makeup and the flip flops I'd worn out to Sonic a little before coming home.

_Oh well_, I think, and start toward the station. The bell chimes brightly, and the combination of air conditioning and the _slap, slap_ of my flip flops reminds me of the summer I turned sixteen – I practically lived in the gas station, waking up late in the afternoon just to drive the three minutes for a slushy and some candy. For old time's sake, and because I'm a terrible saver even in the most dire situations, I grab a bag of Twizzlers and head between the aisles of beef jerky and miniature cereal boxes to make a Watermelon Chiller. Once I've got enough pink ice in my Styrofoam cup, I move in line behind a group of little kids; the leader of the group is collecting coins from his friends, probably to pay for the bag of Doritos on the counter.

The kids pay and go. I pick up a car charger on the stand of electronics by the counter.

"Hello, how are you going today?" The cashier is a very thin man, mid-thirties. He's smiling at me, waiting for a reply as I sit my future cavities on the counter. I haven't talked to anyone today, and I realize with an honest to God sense of dread that I haven't brushed my teeth.

"'m'fine," I mumble. I'm trying not to offend his nose, but I can tell I've miffed him. I shoot him my best closed-mouth smile and turn slightly away from his face, "I'll take thirty on six, please." He rings me up with no further conversation, bags my Twizzlers and hands me four dollars in change from the fifty I slid across the counter.

I'm sweating as I pull back on the freeway. It isn't really advised to turn the air on in my car, and I've thought about getting it fixed, but have never had the motivation. My mom drives me to and from work. I drive a lot at night, in town, when the air is perfect for rolling the windows down. But on the freeway, that's super bad for gas mileage, or so I've read. So I've been alternating between sweating like a pig and just barely cracking my windows. It's miserable, but I'm not - Google Maps is back up, The Black Keys are singing about ten cent pistols, and I've got a two-pound bag of Twizzlers.

* * *

Renee calls again just as I'm realizing how fuck-awful Kansas is to drive through. Actually, she's been calling for a while, in little spurts. But I actually consider answering this time. I don't know what to say to her. She's given me everything – she's a very good mother. When I was younger and she was still married to my dad, we weren't very close. But when they were divorced, I was the one who decided to move in with her. And we were a team. She worked two jobs and I did the cooking and cleaning. When she found out her boyfriend was cheating on her, I made her a mix CD and pasta. When I was accepted into the accelerated program in middle school, she splurged and brought gourmet cupcakes.

I have a very rational fear she won't believe my leaving isn't somehow related to her. I still can't think of anything worthy to say, so I let the call go to voicemail.

* * *

The radio stations started fuzzing out a while back, and I don't have the patience to find the local stations. Most of my friends download everything, but I love physical copies of books and CD's (probably because they're easier to hoard), so I've got this incredibly stupid collection of CD's I keep in my backseat. When I can't handle the silence, occasionally interrupted by Google Maps Lady or my phone vibrating, I pull onto the shoulder of the highway and get out. There's nothing out here. I've heard people complain about the drive through Kansas, but I've never made it. Now I know. This shit is desolate and forever long.

It's good for thinking, but I don't really have much to think about. I know I've got to find lodging at some point today, and I know I should probably find a job wherever I'm going. And while most people go on soul-searching journeys, I look at what I'm doing as an impulse that I won't regret. I'm not doing this to think deeply about the person I want to be – I don't _want_ to think about myself. I'm critical but I hate criticism. I'm a procrastinator but I abhor wasted time. I'm sensitive but I don't want to hear about others' problems. I'm a lot of contradictions that make my head hurt each time I try sorting them out. Instead, I've been thinking a lot about nothing. It's kind of relaxing in a way.

I half-crawl into the backseat and push CD's around, looking for something that fits my mood. There's an Angus and Julia Stone album back here I brought at fifteen, and I decide fifteen year old Bella would love this little trip. I snatch the plastic from its friends and get back into the driver's seat.

* * *

"Okay, listen, I understand I'm not twenty-one. But I'm not selling drugs and I'm not a prostitute and I really just need a place to stay until the morning." I'm _still _arguing with the attendant in a motel in I-don't-know-where, Kansas. The office is small and dark but the carpet is new and the smell of fresh paint is making me nauseated. It's only about six, but I've been driving all day. I'm tired and I wanted to get this out of the way, just in case I need to continue looking. It's looking like I might.

"I can't lodge a _child_." Bottle-blonde sneers at me. She looks like a child, but pointing that out isn't going to do me any good. I'm embarrassingly close to stomping my foot, but instead I release a huff through my nose and ask in a dead voice, "What would you suggest I do, then?"

She squints at me, then smiles. I'm confused by this girl and I hate her. "You know what, pay for two nights and you're good. But if the cops show up here for any reason, I swear to God…" I cut her off by slapping the money on the counter. She pushes the key toward me and I barely mumble a thanks. That's $70 gone for a very shitty bed and water I discover runs lukewarm at best.

But it's better than my car. And it's extremely exciting in the way only motels can be as I watch Sex in the City reruns and snap Twizzlers between my teeth. I'm so excited, when my phone vibrates I answer without hesitation.

Renee really enjoys cussing, though she tries giving it up for Lent every year. She does it a lot when I answer.

"Where the fuck have you been all day, and why aren't you answering your God damn phone?" Her voice, usually a sound I find comfort in, is harsh. My stomach drops and I place my half-eaten candy down in its bag.

"Mom," I try to start but she cuts me off.

"Get your ass home, right now. I don't know where you get off just leaving and not telling anyone, but you need to come home. You have _work_, Isabella. You aren't an adult. You don't get to leave and not tell anyone when you'll be back." I got this exact same talk after coming home late after junior prom, but I'm not sixteen anymore and I'm not afraid of being grounded.

"Mommy," she tries cutting me off again, but I speak louder, against everything she ever taught me about respect, "Mom!" She quiets. I feel sick. I don't want to hurt her, I don't want to disrespect or disappoint her. I can just see her face, angry and confused. I've always been a really good kid, she's never really been mad at me before. But I'm already all the way out here, and I really don't want to go home.

"Mom, I'm okay. I'm safe. I did a thing. I um, last night, I don't know. I don't know why, I wanted to leave the house, maybe I was feeling restless. But then I just kept driving. Okay, no, I kind of planned it. I mean, I knew when I left I wasn't coming back for the summer. I left a note. I don't want you to think I left because you or Phil did anything. And, like, I understand I'm being irresponsible about the internship and I'm sorry about that. But I couldn't anymore. I wanted to leave and see stuff for myself, so I did. But I'm okay. I'm in a motel in Kansas."

I think for a second she's hung up. But the quiet whisper of a connected line is well and alive, and I hear her breathing. "Where is she," I hear Phil, my stepdad in the back. My dog barks and she shoos him off the couch. For a split second, I miss the familiarity of home, but mostly I miss not feeling like I'm in trouble.

She finally speaks, "Isabella, I raised you very well. I don't even know what to say to you right now." She breaths deeply, and I can hear how wet it is. My eyes tear up. I glance at the TV just as a commercial break starts. I never meant to hurt her, and the feeling sucks. My insides feel like lead.

Phil asks my whereabouts again and she whispers the answer. I want to say something, but I don't have the words.

"I know all about doing stupid shit, I really do. But you…you had no reason to run off. I don't care for what, you could've planned something, told somebody. Bella I was worried. I am worried. And so mad, do you even understand?" Her voice gets hard and no matter how many miles, a scolding is a scolding and I feel as though I'm not even allowed to breath in these moments. "Adults don't run off for the fuck of it. Do you understand that? This is impulsive and irresponsible. You fucked up." She releases a very deep breath. "You fucked up, but I can't fix shit for you anymore. Call the law firm tomorrow morning. Be safe, call me when you set out in the morning. Call if there's an emergency, but I'm not sending you any money. We love you." Her voice is final, like she's cutting a cord, and then she hangs up.

I'm left with silence and not a sliver of the excitement I felt earlier. I stay sitting up pin straight for a while, my eyes and head hurt the way they usually do right after I've cried and right before I get a headache. I feel lonely for the first time since I left home, and I really don't want Renee to be angry with me. But she is. I turn the lamp off to avoid a migraine and set the alarm on my phone for the morning. I'm slow to lie down, but when I do, I fall asleep to the inquiries of Carrie Bradshaw and a sadness in my heart.


End file.
